


Hearsay

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Drinking, Drunk Sex, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has seen Combeferre drunk, but due to the circumstances, can't tell anyone.</p><p>Not that anyone would believe him.</p><p>[A Prompt Fill for Combeferre and the word "capernoited," meaning "slightly intoxicated or tipsy."]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearsay

             "Has anyone even  _seen_  'Ferre drunk before?"  Bahorel looked around the room at the stragglers who had stayed behind after the meeting.

             Feuilly and Jehan shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders.

             "R?  You've gotten pissed with pretty much everyone.  You seen him drunk?"

             Lifting his head from the table, but not his eyes, Grantaire shrugged noncommittally.

             "No."

             It was more a testament to the alcohol in his system than anything else how easily the lie slipped from his lips.  Then again, he thought, he could probably have been completely honest and it wouldn't have mattered - who would believe him anyway?

             Who would believe him if he told them about the night, nearly a month ago, when Combeferre had appeared at his door with a full handle of bourbon?

             It had been nearly a month since everything had collapsed around him; since a fatal argument had finally set Enjolras stalking out, never to return, and had left him lost and alone with the smell and sound of him still everywhere.

             It must have been Jehan who had said something finally, after even he failed to draw his flatmate out of his room for the third straight week - it always was Jehan who could tell the difference between the natural - if you could call it that - order of things and something being  _wrong_.

             All he knew for sure was that he dimly recalled the sounds of Jehan leaving the flat and then, fifteen or so minutes later, a quiet, insistent knock at the door that refused to go away until, cursing bitterly under his breath, Grantaire answered the door to find Combeferre standing in the doorway, his features haggard and a bottle in his hand. 

             He still wasn't sure if it was the shock that made him stand to one side as Combeferre entered the flat, or something else entirely.  What he  _did_  remember was the look that he had received when he had asked, almost instinctively - and possibly a bit sharply, if he shouldn't be seeing to Enjolras.

             Who would have believed him if he told them that Combeferre had soundlessly mixed them both drinks - strong ones, even for him - and sat down opposite him, fixing him with his eyes until, almost transfixed, he began talking, the words wringing themselves out of him, running together until he wasn't entirely sure that they even made sense, but Combeferre seemed to comprehend anyway, his gaze only wavering when he paused to pour another drink.

             Who would believe him when he said that he didn't even notice as mixed drinks turned to straight liquor turned to drinking straight from the bottle, let alone that he hadn't  _really_  meant to bury his face in Combeferre's neck, his fingers grasping at the other man's shirt like claws?  That he had certainly never even conceived of responding to the gentle, barely there touch of Combeferre's hands on his face by kissing him?

             Worst of all, who would believe him if he admitted aloud that Combeferre had kissed him back?  That he had done more than that?

             That he had responded by knitting those gentle fingers tightly into Grantaire's hair until it almost hurt and had left him gasping for air when he finally pulled back for a moment to take him in carefully with one of those oddly tender, penetrating gazes of his.  That he had, in that very definite, borderline concerned - even as his words slurred every so slightly in his mouth - tone of his, asked if he was sure that was what he wanted.

              _And god help him, he had said yes.  Had practically begged for it._

             And Combeferre obliged - more than obliged - he had taken him apart with surgical precision; fingers slipping under fabric and through hair and over skin, body tilting at just the right angles to aid Grantaire's fumbling efforts at removing his clothing.  It was somehow ruthlessly efficient and painstakingly slow all at once, and it was something of a blur to him how they got from one location to another, to another, and another with nothing guiding him but Combeferre's fingers and legs and mouth and his own half-formed thoughts.

             He had awoken the next morning hungover and feeling something like a liquid poured into whatever space he happened to be occupying - certain, more than anything, that he had dreamt the whole thing in a haze of alcohol.

             Except there was a hot bath drawn in the tub - and no one did that.

             And when he finally stumbled into the kitchen, clean and dressed in something other than a robe, the lights were dimmed and breakfast was on the table, and Combeferre was watching him almost solemnly from the sink.

             Combeferre, showered and sobered up.

             Combeferre, in his clothes from yesterday.

             Combeferre, with a dark bruise beginning to form just under his jaw, visible even in the dim light.

             Grantaire had blanched, but sat down, and neither of them had said a word until Jehan came home, his eyes searching both of them until Combeferre gave him a gentle nod and a look that seemed to set him at ease.

             He never heard what Combeferre and Jehan said to each other, but after Combeferre left, it was as if nothing had happened, and it had been nearly a month since.  He still couldn't meet Enjolras' gaze, but every time he averted his eyes, he found them lingering on Combeferre.

             Combeferre, who always returned his gaze wordlessly - as if words weren't needed.

             But, Grantaire reflected, Who would believe him if he told them?


End file.
